


All the Light Reasons

by IntelligentAirhead



Category: Persona 4
Genre: Character Study, F/F, Parent Death, mentions of parental neglect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-21 00:12:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6031012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IntelligentAirhead/pseuds/IntelligentAirhead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of how Matsunaga Ayane met Ozawa Yumi, practiced the trombone, and realised economics isn't an exact science.</p><p>Alternatively: The story of how Ozawa Yumi met Matsunaga Ayane, cracked terrible jokes, and learnt how to listen to her own advice. </p><p>(A commission for obstinateRixatrix)</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Light Reasons

**Author's Note:**

  * For [obstinateRixatrix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/obstinateRixatrix/gifts).



It was humid on the day that Matsunaga Ayane met Ozawa Yumi. Ayane would remember that later, even though it was an odd detail to hold onto. Most remembered details were. After all, no one takes care to remember every passing moment just in case they need to recall all relevant facts at some later date. There would be too little benefit with too much cost.

Ayane liked thinking of the world in terms of cost-benefit analysis. No one willingly made a trade where they gained less than they sacrificed, whether they considered it that way or not. It was comforting to know that no matter how much she gave up, she would always be gaining more.

So long as it was her own choice.

Ayane was pulled from her thoughts by the clatter of a door opening further along in the hallway. Someone with short, black hair peeked their head around the doorframe, looking both ways before locking their eyes on Ayane.

“Ah!” The exclamation pitched up, a pleased sort of sigh. “You’re from Band, right? We have the score for the musical ready for you.”

“Oh, good!” Ayane said. She had been told that everything would be fine, but it was still a relief to know she hadn’t messed anything up by mistake.

The girl stared at Ayane for a second, then inclined her head, as if she had made a decision. “We have two stacks in here; why don’t you grab one, and I’ll grab the other?”

“What?” Ayane blinked at her, mouth agape, before gathering herself. “Oh, no, I can just make two trips. It’ll be fine.”

The girl shook her head. “No, I insist. This is much more efficient.” With that, she stepped back into the room.

Ayane stretched out a hand, her mouth working around soundless objections before settling on a resigned sigh. Shaking her head, she stepped into the drama room.

It took only a few moments for the girls to gather up their respective piles of sheet music, and they were soon walking down the hallway once more.

“Oh!” Ayane let out a gasp, turning to the other girl. “I didn’t introduce myself! I’m Matsunaga Ayane. I’ll be in your care— I mean, no, that’s not quite right. I am right now, but not really, and, I, um…” She trailed off.

The other girl, rather than laughing, gave her a considering look, then hummed, a low, thoughtful sound. “My name is Ozawa Yumi. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.” She paused. “There’s no need to panic; it’s just like a performance, right?”

Ayane blinked, hard, in bemusement.

Ozawa-san continued her explanation, as if that had been permission to elaborate. “You practice a script— or a music piece— and if you mess up, or the situation changes, you just need to improvise or have an alternative option.” She continued walking, and Ayane followed a beat later.

“We have understudies in Drama, and we need to be prepared in case they take the place of one of our cast members. They may have the same lines, but the way they portray a character might shift the entire dynamic of a scene, or even the entire play.” Ozawa-san smiled at Ayane. “As long as we’re prepared for anything, we don’t need to panic.”

“But what if something happens that you can’t be prepared for?” Ayane asked.

“Well, if we couldn’t pretend that nothing is wrong when everything is, we wouldn’t be very good actors, would we?”

Ayane giggled. “That’s probably why I’m not an actor, then.”

Ozawa-san shook her head. “You’re a performer, Matsunaga-san. You’ll figure out how to hide the mistakes; you just need practice.”

They came to a stop in front of the band room. Ayane hesitated.

“You, uh…” She trailed off, then straightened, setting her jaw. “I’ve learnt a lot from you,” she said, “and I’d like it if we could,” she bit down a ‘maybe,’ forcing herself to make do without the qualifier, “talk more. I mean, if we have time after practice.”

Ozawa-san looked at her for a moment before smiling. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds nice.”

 

* * *

 

There were certain advantages to living in a small town; for one, nearly everyone took the same route to get to the bus stop, and if they didn’t, they lived close enough that it didn’t matter.

It took all of fifteen minutes for Ayane to walk home on an average day. Walking with Ozawa-san added an extra five minutes to her route, but there was enough to talk about that the extra time was desirable.

Ayane remembered one of the clarinetists had complained at the beginning of the year that she couldn’t join both Drama and Band, as they met on the same days. As unfair as it might be to people who shared those same interests, Ayane couldn’t help but feel pleased at the results; she and Ozawa-san could almost always walk home together, and if either of their clubs ran long, the other could use it as practice time.

“You don’t have to wait for me,” Ayane had said once, putting away her sheet music. “I know you have other things to do.”

Ozawa-san had just shook her head. “You wait for me when practice runs late,” she said. “Besides, it gives me time to annotate my script a bit.”

“Which you could do at home,” Ayane pointed out, blushing nonetheless.

“Watch your tone,” Ozawa-san said, then looked at Ayane with an expectant look.

Bemused, Ayane stared at her. “Um, I’m sorry? I didn’t mean to, uh, be harsh, or—”

Ozawa-san tried to hide behind her script. “I was trying to make a joke,” she said, her voice muffled. “Tone? Like your trombone, or my inflections because it’s something we both practice with, and you know what, I’m just going to die here on this table.”

Ayane laughed, then leaned over to push down the script. “No, no! It was funny, I just didn’t— Oh, stop hiding!” She started laughing harder as Ozawa-san attempted once more to bury herself in the pages of her play. She could feel her cheeks heat up with the exertion. “It was funny!”

“Jokes aren’t funny if you have to explain them,” Ozawa-san said, pouting. Still, there was a glimmer of triumph in her expression that she couldn’t quite hide from Ayane.

“Well, _I_ thought it was, and it’s the audience’s reaction that matters, right?”

“I object on grounds of the audience being biased,” Ozawa-san retorted.

Ayane shook her head, laughing again. “Are you a lawyer now?” She smiled. “Besides, didn’t you say that you have to be prepared for a biased audience?” Ayane cleared her throat and straightened her back. “Not every attendee will be untrained in the arts, Ayane. You need to be prepared for the presence of critics, Ayane,” she quoted.

Ozawa-san winced. “Please… no bad impersonations. I don’t deserve this.”

Grinning, Ayane finished packing up. “If you want me to stop, you have to say, ‘my joke was funny’.”

“Your joke was funny,” Ozawa-san deadpanned.

Ayane frowned at her until she relented.

“Alright, fine. My joke was funny.”

Pleased, Ayane walked to the door, smiling. “Besides, even if it wasn’t, aren't you supposed to act like everything went as planned?” She looked back at her friend.

Ozawa-san frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Improv? Acting? Understudies and dynamics? Everything you told me when you first met me?” Ayane prompted.

Ozawa-san made a face. “Ah, well. Right, a performance is founded on successfully conveying a message to the audience, even if confidence or other emotions must be feigned.”

Ayane looked at her for a moment, but Ozawa-san made no move to elaborate.

Sighing, Ayane decided to let it go. “Well, this audience member is satisfied with the show. Take a bow, Maestra.”

Ozawa-san stared down at her script for a long moment more before she put it away. As she crossed the room, she seemed to be shaking off some darker mood.

“So,” she said, and Ayane tried not to listen for a false note in her cheerful voice, “tell me more about the solo you landed.”

“I didn’t land it; someone else _landed_ on his arm.”

“And there’s always someone waiting in the wings. You were the best person for the job once he fell down.”

“Opportunity cost,” Ayane said, absentmindedly.

“Best alternative,” Ozawa-san countered. She smiled. “I can speak economics too, you know.”

“Saying it differently doesn’t change what it means, you know.”

“It _means_ that you have a shot at showing everyone how hard you’ve practiced,” Ozawa-san said. “And it means I’m proud of you.”

Ayane blushed and ducked her head. “Sure,” she mumbled.

Perhaps sensing that now was not the time to push the issue, Ozawa-san changed the subject, and the girls left the school.

It had taken a while for Ayane to calm down after everyone had left. Souji’s words had helped, some, but her eyes still stung if she let herself think about how she’d thrown away her shot at proving herself, and her throat still tightened in frustration. And now she was alone.

Souji had had to leave at some point; knowing that they couldn’t attend the concert, they had promised to pick up a shift at the daycare. Even so, they would have stayed if Ayane hadn’t told them to go.

It seemed like she was always making the choices that hurt the most. Ayane had to laugh; so much for economics. So much for reasonable costs.

Ayane stopped herself. The past was done, its measure complete, and no matter how she’d butchered it, all she could do was attempt the next movement. There was no use crying about something she couldn’t change.

Telling herself that didn’t make her feel any better, but trying to think of music metaphors was a good distraction. Or at least, it sufficed until the band room’s door slid open.

By all rights, Ozawa should have gone home without Ayane. She should have walked past the band room without stopping, assuming that Ayane had gone to the performance.

Instead, Ozawa stood in the doorway, staring at Ayane, her mouth open and eyes wide. Then, all at once, she seemed to shrink. Her shoulders and expression fell in the same moment, and she sighed. “Ayane-san,” she said, and that was all it took.

Ayane felt her eyes well up, and she fought against the urge to look down. “Look at the sky and try to breathe deeply, right?”

“If you need to stop yourself,” Ozawa said, her voice closer than Ayane was expecting. “If you need to stop, then, yes, that’s how.”

Ayane’s breath hitched. “I really _wanted_ this,” she said. “I let myself hope that I could play, you know? I wanted it.” She lowered her chin to look at Ozawa, who had made her way across the room.

“Then why aren’t you at the performance?” Ozawa asked.

“Takeru-san— the other trumpet player— came back, and it was his part originally. I thought it was just—”

“ _He_ hasn’t been the one practicing his ass off for this performance.”

Ayane laughed, sniffing. “You sound like Seta-senpai.”  
“Well, then they’re a reasonable individual, and you should listen to both of us more often.”

“I’m trying,” Ayane said, rubbing at her eyes. “Before you got here, I was actually… Well, I was thinking, ‘I need to make sure this doesn’t happen again,’ or something like that.”

Ozawa stared at her for a long moment, her eyes darting about as if searching for something. Then she was smiling, and the change in her voice was the difference between A minor and C major.

“You’re trying,” Ozawa echoed, the words taking on a warmth they’d lacked in the empty band room. She took a step forward, and her hands rose from her sides before fluttering, indecisive.

Ayane closed the distance and wrapped her arms around Ozawa’s waist. “I am,” she said, and she grinned into Ozawa’s shoulder when her voice didn’t shake. “I’m going to try my best, and I’m going to perform, and you’re going to come to one of my performances and sit back and go, ‘I knew it,’ because it’ll be the best performance you’ve ever seen.”

“I don’t know,” Ozawa said, a teasing lilt to her voice, “I’ve seen some pretty great performances. You’ll have to work hard to top them.”

Ayane pulled back and shook her head. “I’m never going to hold back again,” she said, the words falling out as fast and hard as if pulled by the sheer weight of them. “I won’t stop trying.”

Ozawa considered her for a moment. “I know you won’t, Matsunaga,” she said, her voice tinged with some unnameable emotion that made Ayane’s cheeks heat. “Not for a second.”

“Ayane,” Ayane said. “Earlier, you called me Ayane-san.”

Now it was Ozawa’s turn to blush. “Ah, did I? I’m sorry, it must have—”

“No,” Ayane said, stumbling to get the words out, “you can— I mean, if you want, I don’t mind if you’d…”

“Oh,” Ozawa said, the word small, “In that case, then…” She cleared her throat. “In that case, you should use my name, too.” After a moment, she tacked on, “Ayane-san.”

“That sounds fair, Yumi-san,” Ayane replied, after a beat.

They stared at one another for a long moment, and then they were laughing, struck with the ridiculous notion of choosing to move forward, despite everything.

 

* * *

 

“Do you think if we pray hard enough at the shrine, we’ll get enough funding to fix the acoustics in here?” Ayane looked around the small stage at the front of the auditorium, trombone in hand.

Yumi-san snorted from where she sat, dangling her legs over the edge of the stage. “I doubt it. If the school got more funding, it’d probably go into hiring teachers who actually know what they’re doing.” She looked up from her script. “Or more class outings, or establishing more cultural clubs, or anything but actually improving infrastructure and renovating.”

“Our teachers aren’t that bad,” Ayane said, but her voice sounded unconvincing to even her own ears.

It was a credit to Yumi-san’s acting abilities that she managed to convey so much disbelief in only one expression. “Anyway,” she drawled, changing the subject, “like I said, it’ll be hard work to make anything sound good in here. The acoustics aren’t ideal.”

“Then we’ll just have to perform so well that the acoustics won’t matter,” Ayane said.

Yumi-san flashed a tired smile in her direction. “I’m glad you feel that way, at least.”

“I’m sure everyone else is working hard too,” Ayane said. “You all sounded very good last time I observed.”

“Sure,” Yumi-san said, her voice flat, “except for the fact that no one’s taking it seriously. At this rate, the music will be the only reason to come see the play.”

Ayane frowned, turning to her. “What do you mean? They all seemed pretty determined, from what I saw.”

“Except when they leave early, or they just slack off, or spend the whole practice flirting.” Yumi-san crossed her arms. “I practice whenever I can, and then they just…”

Ayane walked over and sat down beside her. “I understand,” she said, “and it’s frustrating, but you have to remember that they might be practicing outside of school, too. I practice at the riverbank a lot, for instance.”

Yumi-san’s face wrinkled up as if she’d bitten into something sour. “I doubt they’re doing any of that,” she said. Then her expression loosened into something more contemplative.

“You said you practiced on the riverbank?”

Ayane nodded. “There or at home, usually.”

“Not home,” Yumi-san bit out, then flinched. “I can’t practice at home,” she said, quieter.

Staring at her, concerned, Ayane placed her hand against Yumi-san’s back. “Ah, is your mother still—”

“Not my mom,” Yumi-san said, brushing her hair back. “That turned out to be a lie, and doesn’t it figure that it’s Dad who’s in the hospital instead. Now Mom spends all her time visiting him, so the house is empty. Never mind that he didn’t think it was important to contact us until he was dying, and everyone else left him,” she said, and her voice rang with a shaky kind of forced cheer that lent the words an acidic edge.

Ayane’s breath left her in a rush. “Yumi-san…”

Rolling her eyes, Yumi-san grinned. “And I overshared and made everything uncomfortable.” She sighed. “Wanna forget I said anything and change the subject right now, immediately?”

Ayane considered her for a second. “If you want to talk about something else, we can,” she said, “but I don’t really want to forget if something’s hurting you and I can help in some way.”

Yumi-san sighed again, leaning back into Ayane’s hand. “Nothing you can do right now. Nothing I can do either.” She smiled. “Thank you, though. For being there.”

Ayane looked at Yumi-san and felt as if there was a leaden weight in her stomach. “Any time.”

 

* * *

 

 

Ayane felt her phone buzz in her pocket, and frowned. Most of her friends wouldn’t message her in the middle of class, and her parents would leave a message at the front desk.

It was most likely that one of the novels she was subscribed to had updated, she told herself. There was no use jumping to conclusions about her being kicked off the band, or someone getting into an accident, or her house being burnt down with her parents inside, or—

She looked at her phone as soon as the teacher was looking away. The message was brief.

 **(13:04)** _Sry I can’t walk home w/ u today :(_

Anxiety dissipated, only for concern to knot in its place. Yumi-san could have just told her that in person, in most cases. After glancing around to ensure the teacher was still distracted, she typed a reply.

 **(13:06)** Ok!!! No need for apologies I completely understand!!

 **(13:06)** Are you okay tho??

The silence seemed to stretch into infinity, unbroken but for the teacher’s drone about figurative language. Ayane nearly jumped when her phone finally buzzed again.

 **(13:09)** _Not rly?_

 **(13:09)** _Mom collapsed b/c of overworkign herself_

 **(13:10)** _She’s working all the time n then she goes straight to the hospital_

 **(13:11)** _And she doesn’t need to b/c hello, ppl at the hospital are paid to look after him this is their job, but does she listen? No, she just exhausts herself and it’s so frustrating to watch_

 **(13:11)** I’m so sorry Yumi-san. I wish I could help…

 **(13:11)** _You’re there_

 **(13:11)** _That helps_

Ayane’s phone didn’t buzz with a new message for a long time after that.

 

* * *

 

Ayane and Yumi-san were walking home, discussing performances, when Yumi-san said, without warning,  “I visited him yesterday.”

Ayane blinked. “Kobayashi Ichizo?” She asked, confused. “I thought he was dead.”

“What?” Yumi-san’s face twisted for a second, “No, why would— Okay, yes, that’s a reasonable assumption, but no, I’m not— Okay, so I changed the subject, and I didn’t really think that you’d make that connection, but no, my dad is not the founder of Takarazuka.”

“You visited your father?” Ayane asked.

“I was picking up my mom’s medication,” Yumi-san explained. “And it just seemed like something I should do,” she said, her voice questioning. “But… I don’t know, he was acting so excited and glad to see me, and I just…” She let out a long sigh.

“I keep thinking that this is the person who chose to abandon me and Mom, and he didn’t _want_ us, didn’t want to be with us until it suited him, and now he wants us back, but I feel selfish because, fuck, he’s dying. He’s dying, and if I hate him, I’m a bad person! Especially when he’s so damn excited to see me!”

“You’re not a bad person,” Ayane said, and the rawness of her own voice almost made her wince, but she stood her ground. “And you don’t have to forgive him.”

“But it feels like I do,” Yumi-san snapped. She winced, and carded her hand through her hair. “And the whole problem is that I want to. I kept thinking that if I had just been better, maybe he wouldn’t have left! And now he’s leaving again, and I feel like…” Yumi-san trailed off into silence. Her voice was quieter when she spoke again. “Like if I would just be better now, he wouldn’t go away again.”

Ayane reached out to Yumi-san and placed a hand on her shoulder. They had stopped walking, and stood still on the sidewalk.

Seeming not to notice, Yumi-san continued. “The worst part is that I don’t know if it’s worth the effort to try to make him st-stay.”  Yumi-san’s voice hitched. “No, no.” She said, her voice sounding wet and broken, like a neglected clarinet. “The worst part is that I wish he’d died before I had to see him again, because then he’d never try to be better, and I might be able to stop feeling like shit, and I’d never have to worry about how I’d feel when it’s all over, because some part of me thinks that I’ll be relieved when he’s dead, and God, it’s so fucked up.”

Ayane stepped in front of Yumi-san and looked up to make eye contact with her. “Yumi-san,” she said, trying to make her voice as soft as possible, “you are not a bad person for wishing that things were easier, and you need to remember that his decisions are not your fault.”

Yumi-san swiped at her eyes. “You make that sound a l-lot easier than it actua—” her voice hitched, and she winced before staring at the sky and sniffing. “Than it actually is.”

“Someone’s always telling me that stage directions are an essential starting point, though,” Ayane said, squeezing Yumi-san’s arms.

Yumi-san let out a sharp huff of laughter, then seemed to deflate. She leaned into Ayane, resting her head on Ayane’s. “I’m so tired,” she said.

“I know.”

After a moment, Yumi-san snorted. “You’re so short.”

“Get off me, right now.”

 

* * *

 

Ayane had conflicted feelings about getting the trombone solo. She’d worked hard for it, and she deserved it, and she’d promised to never give up again.

That being said, it would mean that she would have to play for all of the patients at the hospital, including Yumi’s father, whom she hated.

As she pieced together her trombone, she allowed herself to envision the entire band playing loud, discordant noises directly in front of Yumi’s father.

The problem lay in the fact that the rest of the patients didn’t deserve the same treatment. That, and the band deserved to be commended for their professionalism and sound.

And Yumi deserved to pass her own judgement. She deserved that much.

Ayane allowed herself a moment to play a sad scale to comfort her betrayed sensibilities, and resigned herself to playing her best.

 

* * *

 

 **(18:34)** _Dad’s dead_

Ayane let the, “you deserved better,” sit at the back of her tongue, then swallowed it. It wasn’t what Yumi wanted to hear, or what she needed to hear.

Ayane would just have to keep showing her, again and again, until Yumi believed it; until Yumi knew that she deserved the world.

 **(18:35)** Is there anything I can do to help??

There was no answer for what seemed like forever, and then Ayane’s phone lit up.

 **(18:38)** _can u just? keep talking to me?_

 **(18:38)** _I don’t want to be alone rn_

 **(18:38)** Of course. Always.

 

* * *

 

“I’m thinking about quitting Drama,” Yumi said.

Ayane stared at her, mouth agape, for a small eternity. “What? Why?”

Yumi frowned. “I spent so long without confronting how I felt about my father, and about me, and about who I am, that it feels like pretending to be other people is just… It feels like running away,” she said. “It feels like I need to focus on my own feelings, now.”

Ayane cocked her head, baffled. “Except you love drama. It’s _part_ of who you are, Yumi-san.”

“Maybe I don’t want running away to be part of who I am anymore,” Yumi snapped. She crossed her arms. “I thought you’d be more supportive of this.”

“If I thought you really wanted this, I would be,” Ayane said, helpless. “But you love acting too much for me to think that. You’ve dragged me to Okina to watch a musical even you admitted wasn’t that great because of _one_ actor in it. You quote dead playwrights all the time,” she brightened, remembering, “and one of your favourite quotes is about how you only see someone’s true colours when they’re acting.”

“You’re butchering Oscar Wilde, but I forgive you,” Yumi said. She sighed.  “And, okay, I see your point, but also, how can I figure out who I really am if I just keep clinging to the same things I always am? I can’t just be a person shaped void forever. I need to be someone.”

“You are someone,” Ayane blurted out. “You’re _Yumi_. You’re persistent and hardworking, and you expect so much from yourself and from others, but you’re always willing to help if someone just doesn’t get it, and you love operas and really cheesy musicals, and you pretend that it’s for research, but you don’t see the way you light up whenever there’s a ridiculous scene change, and even if it was just for research, that just proves how dedicated you are and how much you love what you do!” Ayane could feel herself blushing, but charged ahead anyway.

“You’re my best friend, and a great listener, and I’m always so amazed at how you can just sit back and watch people and then turn to me and mimic them because you’re just that observant, and you’re _amazing_ , Yumi. You’re amazing, and full of life, and it hurts that you think there’s nothing there.”

Yumi blinked at her, silent for a long moment.

Ayane flushed an even deeper red, but she’d be damned if she took any of it back. Quietly, she continued, “I went too long thinking that I was worth less than other people; I won’t have my best friend making the same mistakes.”

Yumi’s eyes began to shine the way they always did right before she was about to cry, and Ayane had only a moment to regret everything before Yumi started laughing.

“I’m so sorry,” Yumi wheezed, “but you’re just so small and fierce, and I’m not making fun of you, I swear, but you were just so... _passionate_ and god, I love you so much.”

The next moment lasted an eternity as the colour drained from Yumi’s face in direct proportion to the amount filling Ayane’s. “Um,” Yumi said, after a long beat of silence, “you can ignore—”

“I love you, too,” Ayane said, the words falling out in a rush.

“Like in a—”

“Yes,” Ayane said, “Yes, like that.”

“So not just friends?” Yumi asked, her voice strained with something that sounded like hope.

“Not unless you want to,” Ayane said, splaying her hands in front of her.

“Both is good?”

Ayane nodded so fiercely that she felt her head would fall off. “Both is _very_ good.”

And then they hugging, and Yumi was kissing her, and Ayane was giggling from nerves and happiness, and had to keep breaking the kiss to laugh into Yumi’s shoulder because Yumi had to lean down to kiss her, and it was all so ridiculous and fantastic that Ayane could barely believe it was happening.

“You know,” Ayane said , looking up at Yumi. “We still haven’t finished that conversation, by the way.”

Yumi groaned. “Can we pretend that we did?”

“I thought you were going to avoid pretending from now on,” Ayane said, laughing.

“‘If you give a man a mask, he will show you his true face,’ as Oscar Wilde once said,” Yumi said with authority.

“So that’s the original quote, huh?” Ayane laughed. “You’re such a _nerd._ ”

“You’re in Band; you don’t get to call _me_ a nerd,” Yumi teased.

Ayane grinned up at her. “I do, too.” She hummed. “So, does that quote mean what I think it means?”

“It means that you’re contractually obligated to go with me to the new musical that just came out, no matter how bad you think most of the music is,” Yumi said.

“I’m okay with that,” Ayane said, leaning in to touch foreheads with Yumi. For once, the benefit far outweighed the cost.

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative Names for This Fic:  
> The Sun is Gay  
> Give it Some Sol  
> My Sun and Only  
> Girls Just Wanna Have Sun  
> You Make Loving Sun  
> [A Dirty Pun that is Banned from This Author's Note b/c the fic is rated T]  
> Let The Right Sun in  
> Back to Square Sun  
> Two Heads are Better Than Sun


End file.
